The Ascended — Chapter no 27

Chapter 27

The Eternal City

“YOU’RE LATE,” XÜL SAID WITHOUT TURNING. HE STOOD SILHOUETTED against the crimson sky, power coiling around him like a restless serpent.

“By three minutes.” I shrugged, stepping down onto the sand.

Instead of answering, he extended his hand. The air before him shimmered, then tore, creating a jagged wound in reality.

“This is different,” I said, eyeing the unstable edges of the portal.

“Different destination, different tear.” He gestured impatiently.

I hesitated at the threshold. “Why can’t you just tell me—”

“Starling.” His voice carried that dangerous edge. “Either step through willingly, or I’ll carry you through myself. Your choice.”

With a final glare, I stepped through. Cold engulfed me, a thousand invisible fingers trailing across my skin as darkness consumed my vision.

Then, solid ground materialized beneath my feet, and I staggered forward, gasping for breath that suddenly seemed too thin.

We stood on dark wooden docks. Massive ships with black sails lined the piers, while smaller vessels dotted the harbor. The air smelled of brine and a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat.

Xül emerged behind me, the portal sealing shut.

“The Outer Docks,” he announced, already striding forward. “Five hours by land from the Bone Spire.”

I hurried after him, irritation building with each step. “Why are we here? Why not portal directly into the city?”

“All twelve domains have specific protections in their capitals,” he explained, his tone suggesting I should already know this. “Only Morthus can create portals directly into the Eternal City.”

He gestured toward a sleek obsidian vessel at the farthest pier. “We’ll take my ship the rest of the way.”

“Your ship.” I blinked. “You have a ship.”

“Did you think I walked everywhere?” A hint of amusement colored his voice.

“I thought you just… appeared. Dramatically. With unnecessary flair.”

“Only when the situation calls for it.” The almost-smile that touched his lips disappeared quickly. “The journey takes about an hour. Try not to fall overboard.”

I rolled my eyes, following him down the pier. “You still haven’t told me why we’re going to the city. Or why I had to come with you.”

“I’ve been spending so much time away. From you. From training. I figured it might be a lesson in itself if you joined me this time.” He nodded to a group of Shadowkin servants who materialized from below deck, their shadowy forms solidifying.

“Besides.” He strode up the gangplank, his coat billowing behind him in the salty breeze. “We have business in the city that can’t wait.”

“What business?”

“Starling.” He paused, looking back at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferably cryptic?”

His lips twitched at the corner. “Perhaps a few times.”

Then he stalked off towards the wheel, hurling commands at the Shadowkin crew, leaving me alone with my frustration and the unsettling certainty that something far worse than a simple trip to the city awaited me at our destination.

The ship cut through the waves, its hull barely leaving a wake in the blood-dark waters. I stood at the railing, watching strange phosphorescent creatures drift beneath the surface—beings that resembled jellyfish but moved with disturbing purpose, trailing tendrils that glowed.

“They’re soul fragments,” Xül said from behind me, materializing as silently as the creatures below. “Pieces that break off during difficult

transitions.”

I didn’t turn. “That’s horrifying.”

“They reintegrate eventually. Nothing is truly lost in Draknavor.” He moved beside me, his hands gripping the railing.

The ship banked slightly, responding to Xül’s commands.

“You seem surprised,” Xül called over to me, watching me watch his

crew.

“I didn’t take you for a sailor.”

“There’s much you don’t know about me, starling.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Fair point.” He sighed.

We lapsed into silence as he surveyed the horizon, his profile sharp against the crimson sky. He was different here, wearing a confidence that went beyond his usual arrogance. On his ship, surrounded by his element, he seemed almost at peace.

“Where did you learn to sail?” I asked, surprising myself with the question.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on some distant point.

“During my mortal years,” he said finally. “Before the Trials. One of the few skills from that time I still value.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by this rare reference to his past. “You never talk about that.”

“There’s nothing to say.” His tone suggested otherwise. “It was a different life.”

“But you were mortal once. Like me,” I pressed, seizing this rare opening.

“I was never like you.” The words held no malice, just simple conviction. “Even as a child, I knew what I was meant to become.”

“The Warden of the Damned?”

“My father’s son.” He adjusted our course with a slight gesture to the helmsman. “The mortal part was… a complication.”

“What about your mother?” I ventured carefully, remembering Miria’s oblique references to Xül’s past. “Was she a complication too?”

A storm gathered in his gaze, and for a moment I thought I’d pushed too far. But instead of anger, his expression settled into a mixture of pain and respect.

“No,” he said quietly. “She is exceptional.” He turned away, effectively ending that line of conversation. “You worked on ships in your village, didn’t you? Oyster boats?”

The sudden shift caught me off-balance. “Yes. Though nothing like this.”

“The principles are the same.” He gestured toward the bow. “Come.

Take the helm.”

“What?”

“Unless you're afraid?”

The challenge in his voice was impossible to ignore. I followed him to the raised platform where a Shadowkin stood at the massive wheel. With a nod from Xül, the creature melted away, leaving the helm unattended.

“Here.” Xül positioned me before the wheel. “Feel the current beneath us.”

I had to force myself not to tense as his hands moved my shoulders, my hips. His touch was impersonal, clinical even, but my body responded anyway, a traitorous warmth spreading through me.

What would Thatcher say if he could see me now? If he could feel the confused tangle of emotions that surged whenever Xül was near? Disgust, probably. Horror that I could feel anything but hatred for one of them.

And yet, I was beginning to wonder if Xül was truly one of them. At times, he seemed to exist in some complicated middle ground.

“You’re distracted,” he observed, breaking into my thoughts. I was. But not in the way he assumed.

For a strange, suspended moment, we stood together, guiding the vessel through waters that lapped too calmly against the ship. I could almost forget who we were—mentor and mentee, death god and mortal, captor and captive. And that was a problem I wasn’t ready to confront.

“There,” he said suddenly, breaking the spell. His arm extended past mine, pointing toward the horizon.

At first, I saw nothing but crimson mist. Then the fog parted.

The Eternal City rose from the sea—towers of onyx and silver spiraling impossibly high, carved directly into cliffs of black stone. Thousands of lights glimmered across its surface, from the harbor at its base to the palace that crowned its peak.

“Welcome to where I grew up,” Xül said quietly. His expression had shifted once more, his features settling into the cold mask of authority he wore like armor. The brief connection we’d shared evaporated as quickly as it had formed. “Remember your place here, starling.”

The reminder stung more than it should have. “As if I could forget.”

His eyes met mine, a weariness flickering in their depths. “Good.

Because neither will anyone else.”

As we approached the private dock reserved for Xül’s vessel, I noticed the attention we were already drawing—Shadowkin paused in their duties, other lesser divine beings gathering at the harbor’s edge, all watching our arrival with undisguised interest.

“Ready yourself,” he murmured as the ship glided toward its berth.

“The Eternal City remembers everything—and forgives nothing.”

With those comforting words, he stepped away, leaving me alone at the helm as we drifted into the shadow of death’s domain.

THE HARBOR TIER WAS CHAOS—A symphony of sounds, scents, and sensations that made the Bone Spire seem peaceful by comparison.

Shadowkin dockworkers moved quickly, securing vessels and unloading cargo.

But it was the gaps that caught my attention. The strange pauses in movement, the way Shadowkin would occasionally stop to interact with… nothing. Empty air.

“Souls,” Xül explained, following my gaze. “They exist in a different state—perceivable by those that walk the thin line between life and death, but invisible to the living.”

A chill ran through me despite the warmth of the day. “They’re here?

Right now?”

“Everywhere. All souls who have departed life.” His voice softened.

“Draknavor exists as a threshold between states. What you see is merely one layer of reality.”

I stared at the spaces between people. How many souls passed by us even now, caught in that liminal space between life and whatever came after?

The question rose unbidden to my lips. “Could I—if someone I knew had died —”

“No.” His rejection was gentle but absolute. “Even here, some separations cannot be bridged. The living cannot reach the transitioning, no matter how desperately they might wish to.”

The unexpected kindness in his tone made it worse somehow. I swallowed hard, forcing back the image of Sulien that threatened to overwhelm me. “Right. Of course.”

Xül’s expression suggested he understood more than I wanted him to.

Without further comment, he turned and began walking, expecting me to follow.

We’d barely begun our ascent from the Harbor when Xül abruptly changed direction, veering away from the main thoroughfare toward a narrow side street.

“Where are we going?” I asked, lengthening my stride to keep pace with him.

“A necessary detour,” was all he offered, his eyes scanning the storefronts lining the cramped alley.

The street was a stark contrast to the grand avenues we’d just left behind—buildings leaned into one another as if sharing secrets, their foundations so ancient they seemed to have grown from the bedrock rather than being built upon it. Cramped shops with faded signs lined both sides, most appearing to have stood unchanged for centuries.

Without warning, Xül stopped before a small, unassuming establishment wedged between a bookbinder and what appeared to be an apothecary. The shop’s facade was worn smooth by time, its single window revealing a dim interior where glass jars lined the shelves. No sign announced its purpose, just a simple etching in the stone above the door: a

spiral.

“A moment,” Xül said.

He pushed open the door, releasing a cloud of sweet-spiced air that wrapped around us like a warm embrace. Inside, the shop was even smaller than it appeared from the street—barely large enough for a counter, a few shelves lined with jars, and a modest workbench where something bubbled in a copper pot.

“Well, well.” A booming voice shattered the shop’s tranquil atmosphere.

“The prodigal prince returns! Still looking too serious for your own good, I see.”

The speaker emerged from a back room, and I found myself facing the strangest being I’d yet encountered in this realm. She appeared almost like a Shadowkin but far more substantial; her form settled into that of an elderly woman with deep silver skin. Her eyes were completely black, and her hair

moved independently of air currents, weaving itself into patterns above her head.

“Nyxis,” Xül replied, and I nearly stumbled at the sound of his voice— all the cold authority, all the arrogant distance, had vanished, replaced by something that sounded suspiciously like warmth. “You’re still inflicting your concoctions on unsuspecting customers, I see.”

“Inflicting?” She laughed. “The day you refuse one of my ‘concoctions’ is the day the Black Sea runs clear.” She bustled around the counter with surprising agility, reaching up to pat his cheek as if he were a child. “How many years must pass before you visit your old Nyxis without being forced to by some crisis or another, hmm?”

To my absolute astonishment, Xül submitted to this treatment without protest. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in what might have actually

been a smile.

“I’ve been occupied.”

“Occupied! Listen to him!” She turned to me conspiratorially. “As if ascending to godhood and becoming Warden of the Damned were reasonable excuses for neglecting the old woman who used to wipe tears

from his cheeks.”

Xül’s almost-smile faltered. “Nyxis—”

“And who is this?” She cut him off, peering at me with those strange eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally found someone willing to tolerate that prickly personality of yours?”

“My mentee,” Xül corrected quickly. “For the Trials.”

“Ah!” She extended a hand toward me, and I found myself taking it without hesitation. Her skin felt like warm velvet. “I’m Nyxis, dear. I’ve known this one since he was small enough to hide beneath my counter.”

“Thais,” I replied, finding myself oddly at ease despite the strangeness of the situation. “And I wasn’t aware Xül was ever small enough to hide anywhere.”

Her laughter filled the tiny shop again. “Oh, you’d be surprised! This shop has seen him at all sizes—including the time he was no taller than my elbow and tried to steal an entire jar of taffy.”

“I was six,” Xül interjected, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice.

“And I intended to pay.”

“With what? The buttons from your coat?” Nyxis teased, moving behind the counter. “You hadn’t yet mastered that imperious glare you now use to

get your way.” She reached for a glass jar filled with small amber-colored candies. “Still the same, I assume?”

Xül nodded once, and she tipped several of them into a small paper twist, handling them with practiced care.

“Wait,” I said, realization dawning. “You dragged me all the way to the capital of death for candy?”

Xül shot me a look that might have been deadly if not for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not just candy.”

“It’s certainly not,” Nyxis agreed with mock severity. “These are my specialty, perfected over centuries.” She winked at me.

“How did you find this place?” I asked Xül, genuinely curious about this unexpected glimpse into his past.

“I was exploring the lower city—against direct orders, of course. I’d managed to slip away from my tutors.”

“Escaped from them, more like,” Nyxis corrected, sealing the package with a deft twist. “Came barreling through my door with three guards right behind him, wild-eyed and desperate for somewhere to hide.”

“I chose randomly,” Xül continued, accepting the package from her.

“This shop became his sanctuary,” Nyxis said, her voice softening.

“Somewhere even the Prince of Draknavor could simply be a child for a while.”

A silent understanding passed between them—a look laden with history I couldn’t begin to understand. For a brief moment, I could almost see the shadow of who Xül might have been in another life, one where duty and darkness hadn’t shaped him.

“It was just a convenient location,” Xül said, though the excuse sounded hollow even to my ears. “And the confections were acceptable.”

“Acceptable!” Nyxis pretended to be outraged. “This from the boy who once ate so many he made himself ill and had to be carried home to his mother?”

Xül winced visibly at that, and I filed away this unexpected weakness— his apparent sweet tooth—for future reference.

“That only happened once,” he muttered.

“Once was enough for poor Osythe.” Nyxis turned to me again. “He was sheet-white and moaning about dying.”

I couldn’t help myself. “You ate yourself sick on candy?”

“I was a child,” he replied stiffly. “I hadn’t yet learned the concept of moderation.”

“Some might argue you still haven’t,” Nyxis remarked with a raised eyebrow. “Now, tell me how the Trials are going. You know I can never bring myself to watch.”

Xül sighed, but there was no real irritation in it. “Well, she survived the first one, clearly.”

Nyxis studied me with new interest. “That’s quite an achievement.

Davina’s Trials have always been particularly nasty. Throw Thorne into the

mix…” She shuddered.

“It was… educational,” I managed.

“She’s a feisty one, I’ll give her that,” Xül added with a smirk. “Tossed a knife of starlight straight through someone’s heart.”

“She can wield the stars?” Nyxis asked, delight crossing her features.

“No wonder you chose her.” She leaned across the counter toward me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He used to watch the sky for hours as a child, you know. Even in a domain like this, he always loved the stars.”

Xül cleared his throat. “We should be going. There are matters requiring my attention.”

“There always are.” Nyxis’s expression sobered. “But remember, little prince, even the Warden of the Damned needs sweetness in his life occasionally.” She patted my hand. “Perhaps this one will remind you of that.”

“Unlikely,” I said dryly. “I’m not particularly sweet.”

“The best ones never think they are.” She winked at me before turning back to Xül. “Don’t be a stranger, my boy. Eternity is too long to spend entirely in shadows.”

“That was interesting,” I remarked as we stepped back into the narrow street.

“It was a waste of time,” he replied, though he slipped the package of sweets into an inner pocket. “But traditions have their place.”

“You actually smiled in there. I didn’t think your face could make that shape.”

His eyes locked on mine—all edge, no burn. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. I’ve seen it now. I can’t unsee it.” I matched his stride. “The fearsome Death Prince has a sweet tooth and a surrogate grandmother who calls him ‘little prince.’ My world is forever changed.”

“If you mention this to anyone—”

“You’ll what? Feed me taffy until I’m ill?” I couldn’t resist needling him, not when I’d finally found a crack in his impenetrable facade. “Does Morthus know his terrifying son once hid under a candy shop counter?”

“He was the one who found me there,” Xül replied unexpectedly. “He wasn’t angry, as I’d expected. He simply sat beside me, tried one of Nyxis’s confections, and told me I was quite an impressive criminal.”

I laughed. I hadn’t expected him to share anything genuine.

I felt so conflicted in these rare moments with him.

He was everything I’d sworn to destroy—a god, an executioner, a being who represented the system that had taken everything from me. And yet. I couldn’t deny the way my pulse quickened when he was near, the way his rare smiles made something twist in my chest. This wasn’t part of the plan.

This was dangerous—not just because of what he was, but because of what it meant about me. What kind of person was drawn to darkness?

“But that was a different time,” Xül continued, his voice hardening.

“Before I understood my true purpose.” He straightened his shoulders, lengthened his stride, and just like that, the brief glimpse of mortality vanished, my inner troubles along with it.

“We have things to do,” he said, effectively ending this unexpected detour into his past.

We continued our ascent through the city, passing through what appeared to be some kind of market district. Stalls lined the winding streets, selling strange artifacts I couldn’t begin to identify.

A sudden gasp from the crowd ahead made me look up. Suspended above the square hung an enormous viewing portal, easily the size of a building. Through its shimmering surface, scenes played out in rapid succession.

A woman with intricate tattoos—frozen spears of ice pinning her to a tree. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Two people setting traps. One triggered his partner’s wire—leg gone at the knee. His partner took his supplies and ran.

These weren’t just any scenes. They were events from the last Trial. My heart stilled.

Five contestants turned on each other over a single golden stag corpse.

Bodies in the dirt.

Then, my own face filled the screen. I watched myself forge a star-blade and send it spinning through the air. It struck the man square in the chest,

his eyes widening before he crumpled.

I looked away, stomach churning.

“They broadcast all the Trials,” Xül said, noticing my reaction. “Every domain can watch. The viewing portals are everywhere—markets, pleasure

houses, residences.”

“Lovely.” I muttered.

“Come,” Xül said, his hand finding my elbow. “We have an appointment to keep.”

As we reached a juncture between tiers, a Shadowkin attendant materialized beside us, bowing deeply to Xül.

“My lord,” the creature intoned. “The prisoner continues to resist standard questioning. Your presence is urgently requested.”

“Of course it is,” Xül muttered. “Incompetence surrounds me.” He turned to the attendant, his voice hardening. “Tell Vareth I’ll be there shortly.”

The Shadowkin bowed again before dissolving into the shadows.

“Prisoner?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to finally get some answers.

“Is that why we’re here?”

“If your brother hadn’t eliminated Drakor, I wouldn’t be dealing with such mundane matters,” Xül replied, irritation clear in his tone. “His absence has… redistributed certain responsibilities that I, as Warden, should not have to subject myself to. But we have yet to find a replacement, so

here I find myself.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

He stopped walking, turning to face me directly. “The Prison of the

Damned.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“Did you think the name was metaphorical?” His expression suggested mild amusement at my discomfort.

“And why exactly am I coming along on this delightful excursion?”

“Consider it educational.” He resumed walking, forcing me to hurry after him. “The Trials aren’t merely about combat or survival, starling.

They’re about understanding the divine domains in all their aspects—even the unpleasant ones.”

We crested a final rise, and I saw it. Unlike the elegant towers of the main city, the Prison was a jagged mass of dark stone. No windows pierced its walls, no ornamentation softened its brutal lines. It stood separate from the city proper, as if even death wanted distance from what lay within.

“It’s… not what I expected,” I managed, fighting the urge to back away.

“Few things are.” Xül’s expression changed, hardening. The mentor I knew—irritating, arrogant, occasionally almost mortal—disappeared, replaced by the Warden of the Damned in truth rather than just title.

For the first time since arriving in Draknavor, I felt truly afraid of him.

We approached the Prison’s single entrance—a towering arch inscribed with warnings: Abandon hope. Abandon memory. Abandon self.

“Stay close,” Xül commanded, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate in my bones.

The massive doors swung open at his approach, revealing darkness so complete it seemed solid. Xül stepped forward without hesitation, and after a moment’s paralyzing doubt, I followed him.

Shadowkin guards stood at attention, their forms more substantial here than in the city proper. They bowed as Xül entered, the movement rippling through their ranks.

“My lord.” A Shadowkin separated from the others. “The prisoner awaits in the third interrogation chamber.”

“Vareth.” Xül acknowledged him with a nod. “What do we know?”

“A Lightbringer, my lord. Captured in the lower archives. Claims to be a diplomatic messenger.” Vareth’s tone made it clear what he thought of this explanation. “We’ve confirmed he carries no official credentials.”

“A spy, then.” Xül sounded almost bored. “How unimaginative.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Xül turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You may observe from the alcove. But you will remain silent and out of sight. Understood?”

I nodded.

Vareth led us down a darkened corridor. The occasional moan or distant scream filtered through the stone, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I fought to keep my expression neutral, unwilling to give Xül the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.

The interrogation chamber was stark and utilitarian—a single chair in the center surrounded by markings etched into the floor. Vareth directed me

to a small observation alcove set into the wall, where I could watch without being immediately visible.

Chained to a chair was a being of pure light who didn’t even turn to look at Xül when he entered.

“Let’s not waste time,” Xül said. “We both know why you’re here.”

“I am a diplomatic messenger,” the Lightbringer insisted. “This detention violates all protocols between domains.”

“Diplomatic messengers carry credentials.” Xül circled the chair slowly.

“They announce themselves at proper entry points. They don’t skulk in

restricted archives.”

“A misunderstanding—”

“Lying to me is pointless.” Xül cocked his head, and the chains tightened.

“I’ve already told you. I made a wrong turn.”

Xül didn’t bother responding to the obvious lie. Instead, he made a subtle gesture with his left hand. The binding chains pulsed and tightened even further. The being’s radiance flickered.

My stomach twisted. I wanted to look away but forced myself to watch.

“Let’s try another topic then,” Xül said quietly. “I find it interesting that Sundralis has reduced its external operations in recent months. Resources diverted elsewhere. Why?”

My heart began to pound, and I leaned forward, suddenly desperate not

to miss a single word.

“Your intelligence is flawed.”

“Is it?”

Xül raised his hand again, and the summoned soul resumed its torture.

I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. The Lightbringer’s pain was palpable, filling the chamber with a high-pitched whine just at the edge of hearing. I wanted to feel only disgust at Xül’s methods, but a treacherous part of me wondered. If this being had information about something happening in Sundralis, something that Olinthar was doing, didn’t I want that information extracted by any means necessary?

The moral compromise in that thought sickened me.

“Temporary adjustments,” he gasped when the death magic receded.

“For increased security during the Trials, adjustments in our infrastructure, meetings—”

“Meetings?” Xül’s posture shifted, his attention sharpening. “What

meetings?”

He didn’t answer.

This time, Xül didn’t call forth his damned servants. Instead, he placed his hand directly on the Lightbringer’s form, and I watched in horror as he became a conduit himself. Dark tendrils of energy flowed through him, into the Lightbringer, their screams merging with the prisoner’s as they invaded.

“Who attends these meetings?” Xül demanded.

“No one of consequence,” the Lightbringer managed.

“How do they access the Palace?”

“Standard protocols.”

Xül’s grip tightened. The Lightbringer flickered erratically as energy pulsed through its form. “No standard protocol allows direct access to the capital without passing through multiple security checkpoints. And we have both eyes and ears there. Try again.”

“Special arrangements,” he gasped. “For efficiency.”

“What kind of arrangements?”

The Lightbringer refused to answer. Xül’s expression hardened, and he made a complex gesture with his free hand. The chamber darkened as he summoned what looked like dozens of damned souls, each one more twisted and tortured than the last. They converged on the prisoner in a horrifying wave.

“Portals!” the being screamed, voice distorted in pain.

Xül released him, and he collapsed in the bindings, his light barely visible, patches of his form extinguished.

He leaned closer to the weakened prisoner. “Who?”

The Lightbringer remained silent, but when Xül raised his hand again, spectral servants already readied for another onslaught. The being flinched.

“We’re well beyond the point of secrets,” Xül said coldly. “Who is creating these portals?”

“Not your concern,” the Lightbringer croaked.

“Terralith? Aella?” Xül pressed. “Thorne? Axora?”

The Lightbringer’s posture changed at the mention of the last name—a subtle tension I might have missed had I not been watching so closely.

“Axora,” Xül breathed. “Axora is creating direct portals into the Capital.”

The Lightbringer’s silence confirmed his guess.

“Since when?”

“A few weeks—maybe a month.”

“This is unprecedented,” Xül said, true shock evident in his voice. “No one can create passageways into the seat of another domain. Divine law forbids it.”

“I’ve said nothing,” the Lightbringer insisted weakly.

“You’ve said everything,” Xül replied, death magic coiling around his fingers like black frost. “And you will continue.”

“I—I misspoke.”

“No.” Xül moved closer, the damned souls hovering just behind him.

“You didn’t. They’re merging aren’t they? War and Order? Becoming one?”

I froze.

Bellarium. The domain of War. The domain where Thatcher was.

When the Lightbringer didn’t speak, the souls converged again.

Screams cracked through the chamber and echoed off the walls.

The being finally gasped, “I don’t know for certain! That is above my

knowledge.”

My breath caught.

The Lightbringer’s form wavered, becoming increasingly unstable. “If Olinthar discovers I revealed any of this, he’ll unmake my very essence. No afterlife, no transition—just oblivion.”

“He won’t get the chance.” Xül’s voice was cold as the grave. “You’ve served your purpose.”

Before I could process what was happening, he made a sharp gesture.

“Consume,” he commanded, and every damned soul in the chamber descended upon the Lightbringer in a horrifying frenzy. The being’s form contracted violently as the souls tore his essence apart piece by piece, each taking a fragment of light until nothing remained but a fading spark that winked out of existence.

I staggered back, a silent scream trapped in my throat. This wasn’t death —this was obliteration. Complete annihilation. The Lightbringer hadn’t just been killed, he had been unmade.

Without another word, Xül strode from the chamber, the souls of the damned disappearing from view, returning to whatever terrible place they occupied in this prison. I followed, legs trembling. Olinthar was secretly merging domains, consolidating power beyond what the divine balance permitted…

“We need to see my father immediately.”

“Morthus?” My stomach dropped. “Why?”

He didn’t answer. He simply stormed down the corridor.

“My brother is there,” I said finally as I caught up with him. “In Bellarium.”

He gave a terse nod. “They’re not going to hurt your brother.”

“What does that mean, Xül?”

“It means he’s at least safe for now.” His clipped response held an edge of irritation.

“Will this affect Elaren?” I pressed before coming to a sobering realization. The conversation from the banquet. The one that had gotten Darian killed.

“Olinthar stationing his Priests at mortal military encampments—” I rushed to Xül’s side. “Do you think this has anything to do with that?”

He turned on me then, and I had to brace myself to avoid colliding with his chest.

“You were never here.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “You never heard any of this conversation. You never saw that prison.”

He stepped forward, forcing me back until my shoulders hit cold stone.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move as the surrounding air grew thick with his power.

“Do you understand me, Thais? If anyone—anyone—suspects you have this knowledge, the consequences will reach far beyond your insignificant life.”

His hand shot out, gripping my jaw with fingers that felt like iron bands.

“Your brother. Your village. Every soul you’ve ever cared about. I can make eternity very, very long for all of them.”

I tried to swallow, but his grip made it impossible. Cold terror slithered down my spine as I realized I was seeing the side of him that the damned witnessed—merciless, absolute, a law unto himself.

“This isn’t a game.” His face was inches from mine now, his breath ghosting across my skin. “This isn’t one of our little sparring matches where you get to push back. This is me telling you that there are forces at work that would obliterate you without thought if they knew you’d heard even a whisper of what was said today.”

He released my jaw but didn’t step back. “So, I’ll ask you once more, with perfect clarity: Do. You. Understand.”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was a command, a binding, a leash pulled tight.

“Yes,” I managed, hating how small my voice sounded.

“Good.” He straightened, adjusting his cuffs. “Then we’ll speak no more of it.”

He turned and continued walking as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just threatened everything I cared about. As if he hadn’t just shown

me exactly who he was.

The hand of death itself.

And I followed, because what choice did I have?

A lift deposited us to the highest tier of the city, where a dark palace dominated the skyline—its spires twisting toward crimson.

I followed him inside, my jaw still burning from where his fingers had gripped it. My heart hammered against my ribs.

This was the pattern, wasn’t it? Every single time I thought I glimpsed a trace of compassion beneath that cold exterior, he would reveal his true nature. The predator. The god. The monster.

On his ship, he’d been almost gentle, sharing glimpses of his mortal years, guiding my hands on the wheel with unexpected patience. In Nyxis’s shop, I’d seen genuine warmth transform his face, watched him submit to her affection without protest. For those few moments, I’d almost believed there was something more to him than the callous deity.

What a fool I was.

Every crack in his armor, every glimpse of vulnerability—they were just echoes of who he might have once been. The ghost of a person who died a decade ago when he ascended.

And somehow, despite knowing better, I kept reaching for that ghost.

I touched my throat where his grip had burned through me, remembering how his eyes had gone cold. That was the real Xül. And I needed to remember that.

No more, I promised myself, straightening my shoulders as I followed him through a dimly lit corridor. No more hoping for redemption. No more letting those brief moments of connection matter.

He was death itself, and I was just a pawn he’d somehow stumbled upon.

Massive obsidian doors swung open before us, requiring multiple attendants to move their immense weight. Beyond lay a massive dark hall

with shadows that seemed alive, and a ceiling so high it disappeared into

darkness.

And at the end, two thrones.

Through my lashes, I saw the Aesymar of Death and his mortal wife.

Breath clogged in my throat as I noticed their gaze shift from their son to me.

“So,” Morthus said finally, his voice carrying through the chamber like distant thunder. “The wielder of stars has come to the city of shadows.”